


Every Day is Exactly the Same.

by BigScaryDinos



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Identity Issues, M/M, Mindfuck, Psychological Torture, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigScaryDinos/pseuds/BigScaryDinos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> This sad little outcast staining the cushions with his insides that look no different from anyone elses...</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A series of short drabbles that follow along with Teen Idle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read with Teen Idle or without. If you're reading it by itself it is modern!AU. These little bits just couldn't fit anywhere else. Some are inspired by songs, some are just written late at night when I'm bored. Enjoy :)

 

 

His fingers drag lazy circles around a jutting hip bone. Round and around they go, perfect nails etching little red marks against the pale skin. To an outsider this skin would look sickly, diseased. To Ramsay it looks exactly the way he wants it to look.  This splotchy patchwork of dark purple and yellow marring the off white base coat. The owner of this sad stretch of skin moans low in the back of his throat.

 

To an outsider this noise would sound something like discontent. Something like misery drowned in layers of sickening sweet apathy. To Ramsay it was the same noise a dog might make laying at your feet. A hum of content satisfaction. Raw marks slowly grow under his nails. Throaty moans turn to harsh intakes of air. He doesn’t move as much as he would like to,the owner of these red marks, these new wounds. Beads form, those perfect clean nails now have that sickly looking skin gathered underneath them.

 

Ramsay, he moans. He loves this. This game. _You don’t move ._ He said. This broken thing next to him stays still, perfectly in position like a doll. He was limp at first, laying with his silly empty head pressed gently between Ramsay’s shoulder and a couch cushion. Then the game started and now those limp limbs are stiff like starchy ironed out shirts. Crisp yet unmovable.

 

Ramsay, he groans. He’s pleased. Those angry looking marks are furious now, puffy and dripping with gore. Droplets of red splatter his fingers, his nails, his hand.  He wants so badly to bring his hand to his lips and let his tongue flicker over the salty spray. But he has to control himself, dragging those nails again and again in the same pattern.

 

When he can’t even feel the resisting flesh anymore he can feel something else instead. Vibration next to him, as it turns out is the owner of this new gaping hole, shaking like a leaf. His legs are twitching so badly, his body jerking gently like he was being tugged back and forth by some invisible opponents.

 

Now this was what the game was all about. This total loss of voluntary movement. The moment when the pain breaks down into that blinding white light that covers you from head to toe. This was the best part. This was better than winning, it was watching somebody else give in and give up. It was ecstasy.

 

This pet next to him, this sad little outcast staining the cushions with his insides that look no different from anyone else, he’s swaying and crying. Those eyes are narrowed to the smallest little slits and he’s watching the corner of the room. Ramsay chuckles softly, still etching that circle into the available canvas. He thinks about a story he read, where dogs can see ghosts. Pets can stare into the air for hours seeing things that just aren't there. Maybe that’s where his toy is off to. Somewhere between here and Hell.

 

His artwork moves, but Ramsay can see the strain in  every muscle. This figure oozing onto the expensive furniture is trying to hold himself together. His fingers contract, even though it must be terribly painful with knuckles that look the way his look. Those tight balls of bumps and bones and bruises, shaking by his sides.

 

This little disappointment lost, clearly by his erratic twitching. That whining desperate sound he makes with his mouth shut, the way his eyes can’t settle on one thing - it’s all part of the failure. He knows damn well he’s lost. The way his head hangs there like his neck has been snapped.  If it’s even possible to make this shaking sobbing wreck even worse it happens when Ramsay’s lips graze his shaking ear.

 

_What a shame you couldn't hold still. I guess it’s time for your punishment._

 

The floodgates open. Those quiet tears that leaked out of distant eyes turn on like a tap and stream out in matching rivers. A pale face grows even paler, all the blood draining out and to gods know where - probably the fucking cushion. This wretched broken thing that’s still trying not to shake yet overcome with tremors tries to beg. His voice is as broken as he is and the words don’t come out as anything more than low howls.

 

To an outsider this would look sick. To any normal man, woman, or child this would be some kind of disgusting display of sadistic behavior. To an outsider this would be wrong.

  
To Ramsay this is perfection on a Friday night.

 

 


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't need to read Teen Idle first. You don't need to do anything actually. This is just another drabble I didn't know where to put exactly. Maybe some foreshadowing? Or perhaps not. Enjoy.

 

 

I’ve got him in my sights, he’s running though. He thinks if he runs fast enough he can escape. A bullet will find him be it between the eyes or through his heart. Speed will lose meaning. His boots are  thudding down on the snow, crunching it and leaving empty holes where his feet broke through the crust. He should be much more careful. He knows about this game. This isn't the first game we've played - he knows the rules. We made the rules together, sat  down at the big oak table and listed our rules. I let him name his, I held my tongue. He'd dig his own grave. He knew the rules, just not the little spin, this new expansion pack I've brought to the table. The one where I carry a gun.   


 

Even if I didn’t see him a mile away; panting, sweating, almost screaming, I’d be able to track him like the dog he is. He’s stumbling blind, I don’t even need the girls. These dogs who have waited so very long to do this, to be released on the scent they _had_ to get used to. That awful stench, the way he reeks - fills the room with a toxic cloud with his name plastered all over it. They're slobbering for revenge. I do love the girls' enthusiasm. It doesn't quite match my own quiet sense of joy. My eyes are sparkling, my fingers tingling in the cool air.  

 

He’s tumbling down, the edge of some hill obscured by the glittering whiteness under our feet. He makes this shrill noise, this almost scream. It’s one pitch too low to really be a scream, but loud enough to send a pounding headache tunneling into the space between my eardrums - still ringing from his outburst. He's down, gone from view. I can hear twigs breaking under him as he flips and flops downwards.   


 

I - much more carefully, pick my way through the snow. Closer and closer to the edge,  and he’s there. All dark shapes against the trees stopping him from falling completely down the hill. Branches holding his limbs hostage he looks broken and desperate. His mouth hangs open and I can see the very breath coming out of him. He heaves and hims and haws and wrestles with the wood. I struggle to hold in my laughter. I know if I let it out it would be a real side splitter, something that would bend me over and let my hair brush against the inches gathered at around my feet. I need to cut that - I think casually. Once _he's_ out my life I'll have time for myself again. I'll lounge around all day. No mutt on my heels demanding with his eyes. No useless beast weighing me down.   


 

He must be awfully cold, only wearing those boots and his pants. Then I think how lucky he is to have those at all, after all that he’d done to put himself in this situation. That pitiful thing he is, he was asking for this. There’s no better way to go out than with a **bang**. 

 

A good hunt was all that was left in him, after everything was said and done. 

 

He was worth that much, this cold wintery chase through the snow. He was worth the look on his face when it was over. He was worth a quick splash of red on white.  


 

I’d leave his body out here. I’d already decided that when he took off running. He ran through the back door and towards the woods he’d thought he’d known. I knew them better. I knew the lay of the land and where the snow drifts were most deceiving. I knew the gentle slopes and the sharp jagged rocks that marked steeper drops. I could feel the landmarks with my toes, even through the thick rubberized boots that barely fit me anymore.   


 

I’d given him fifteen minutes before I went after him, opening the girl’s kennel as I went. They were off like bullets as I loaded my own into my riffle. I lazily made circles in the snow following his confused tracks. He ran as far and fast as he could but it wasn’t enough.It would never be enough. And now it was over.   


 

Now I had him. 

 

I was upon him. My rifle raised I  looked into his blue eyes and wondered what had I ever seen in them other than something lowly and pathetic. He was pinned  between those dead trees and I whistled, my broken teeth making it easier. Every noise I made was a whistle really, but it didn’t matter because he stopped his fussing the with tree’s limbs and looked at me, standing before him. His eyes widen in surprise, then shock. He jerked backwards and tried to finish his tumble down the hill but the snarling snapping girls were waiting at the bottom of the hill. Stuck, like a rat in a cage. 

 

“Theon, please don’t do this.” His voice was unsteady, it was trembling.  It was the first time he’d used my name in what seemed like years.It was probably years to be honest. Time lost meaning in the months I'd been with him. I shook my hair out of my eyes, it had grown so long and pale over the time I spent with him - but that time was coming to a close. I thought again of scissors and sheers and hair dye. No - I decided. I'd leave it how it had become. Maybe a trim, but I'd let it stay grey. It would be the color of a Greyjoy, a survivor, and not just the player in another game, but the _winner_.   


 

“Beg.” I demanded. He complied.   


 

“Please, please don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re doing right now. You  - my father, he can give you _whatever_ you want. Do you want money? A house? Jobs? Land? We have acres. I can give your mother a beautiful house. I can set your sister up with a millionaire - billionaire.  Just name it.” His eyes were watering, in fear or from the gusting winds I had no idea, I didn’t care. 

 

“Get on your knees.” 

 

At the angle he was stuck in I knew it would be near impossible, he somehow managed. Up to his stomach in fluffy white he clasped his hands in front of him, praying to all mighty Saint Theon. Patron saint of broken bones, calcium pills, bruises and premature grey hair. He didn’t know Saint Theon was as unforgiving as an old testament god. I was as wrathful as the sea I came from. I was as treacherous as a storm. I was a just god - and vengeful.   


 

I wanted to yank my cock out and tell him to suck. I wanted to shove this gun up his ass ‘til it came out his mouth. I wanted to strip the skin from his back and dry it like jerky.   


 

Instead I pulled the trigger. 

  
  
Then I woke up. 

 

 


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctors. Driving. Thinking. Water Damage.

 

 

I’m sitting in his car outside the doctors office. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel and I don’t know how I’m going to drive home. It hurts so much to close my fingers, to grip this massive circle before me. My wrists ache, my arms strain just thinking about supporting my hands. I wish _he_ could just cut them off already.

 

I don’t even know why I came here today. _He_ didn’t say anything about it, _he_ doesn’t even care anymore because _he_ knows I’ll be back. _He_ had told me to come to the first one - at my sister’s insistence. _He_ had me under _his_ thumb for so long _he_ knew I wouldn’t spill any kind of beans.

 

It’s not like this little appointment did any good. This old wrinkled ghoul came in the room, freezing cold and touching me all over and calling me _Mr. Greyjoy_ . My stomach clenched every time he looked at me. I started to put together the reason he was looking at me so much was because I wasn’t answering to his call. _Mr. Greyjoy_ was somebody else. He sent me for Xrays, he took some bloodwork. It didn’t help with anything other than causing me to spew lies. What would happen if I even told the truth?

 

_You are missing most of your fingernails. You have four metacarpals that are showing severe damage. Three look like they’ve been broken in the recent past. A piece of your radial bone is actually broken off. Would you like to talk to me about how this occurred?_

 

It wasn’t a real question. I know real questions. Nobody asks them to me anymore. He wasn’t asking if I’d like to talk to him, he was telling me to tell him how it happened. That’s what happens. That’s the game. It’s to tell the right answer that he wants to hear.

 

_It was a freak a-accident at work ._

 

And all I can think of is freak. Freak. It rhymes with reek. It rhymes with meek.

 

_Where do you work?_

 

I’m shaking when those cold latex covered hands press and prod against my bruised bones. He’s gentle but that doesn’t mean it’s without pain. I’ve learned that along time ago. Even the softest touches can cause wounds. The softest touches are the most unwanted. They open can open gaping pits under my skin, and when the feathery light fingers are gone I have to stitch myself back together.

 

Honestly I don’t know what to tell him. What do I say? How do I lie? I work with _him ._ I do what _he_ wants, what _his father_ wants. Sometimes it’s to actually work, shuffling papers and products and people from rooms to other rooms. Sometimes it’s kneeling under a desk working desperately to drain the very life from _his_ cock while _he_ skypes to clients in Japan. Sometimes - if _he_ makes me, and if _his father_ makes him, I lay on a table and let shadowy figures poke and prod and open my skin to see what’s inside. _He_ hates that more than I do. _He_ traces the new set of stitches where they’ve implanted some fantastic and questionable technology inside me. _He_ grits _his_ teeth so loud I hear the grinding.  I try to tell _him_ it’s okay. The side effects wear off. I don’t mind being the human guinea pig as long as I stay in _his father’s_ good graces. It does no good. _He_ wants to rip out my stitches time and time again.  _He_ has several times, until  _his father_ told _him_ if  _he_ doesn't stop it then _he_ will become the newest test subject. I can feel _his_ fingers catching on the X’s now.

 

_J-just this small company ._

 

It’s not a lie exactly. I wouldn’t call it small, wouldn’t call the forever growing Bolton empire small, but it started small. His fingers press into my knuckles. I’ve stopped shouting, _he_ taught me to hold my tongue. If it hurts I should be grateful to feel anything at all. His eyes are skeptical at best.

 

_And how exactly did this accident occur? This, this is a lot of damage…_

 

As if I don’t feel it. As if I don’t know. Reek may rhyme with meek and freak and weak - but not stupid or slow or dumb. I’m not an idiot. _He_ tells me I can be such a sweet simpleton sometimes, but I understand the pain. I can feel bones grating against each other, the back legs of a cricket under my thin skin.

 

_I was he-he-helping some of the boys move these big steel installations_.

 

What’s a hammer made of exactly? Is there some steel inside somehow? Maybe I’m not exactly lying here. This is the fourth time _he_ ’s broken my hand, third _he_ ’s broken my wrist. I’ve lost count of how many times _he_ ’s snapped my fingers far past their limits. Most of the time I deserved it.

 

_They pulled away before I was ready, m-my hand slipped and got stuck be-between the steel. All accidental._

 

I start the car and pull out of the lot. I almost never am allowed to drive myself anywhere. If I want to come somewhere, and I rarely want anything these days - and if _he_ allows it of course, I have to take a bus, or a cab, or walk. It feels almost comforting to hear the engine purring and growling as I start my long drive home.

 

The ache and burning fire between my knuckles makes me think of the way my body  burns under  the doctor’s prying eyes. I can’t even look at him. He knows the truth. I know how ridiculous my lie sounds even as the words tumble out of my mouth. One look at me and I know as well as he does that nobody would ever ask me for help in lifting or moving anything heavier than a bottle of wine.

 

One hundred and seventeen pounds of black and blue skin, rattling bones, dissolving water. One look at this fucking wreck I am and he knows I’d be as helpful in moving massive amounts of any heavy material as I would be in starting a new revolution.

 

Reek rhymes with bleak. I think as I drive home. When I’m home I’m empty, like a cup that’s been knocked over. Everything inside of me is just spilled out.  There is nothing left of me but disgusting coffee stains around my rim. Nothing and nobody inside me. Nothing left to offer up. _He_ took it all. Then _he_ took even more, taking the things I never knew I had to give.

 

_Well, just answer me this, do you feel safe at home?_

 

There it is, there’s the drop. Do I feel safe? No. I don’t feel safe anywhere. As much as this old man wants to save me, I know he doesn’t really want to waste the time or effort. Nobody wants to waste the time on me …. but _him_ . _He_ spent the time on me.

 

Times like this it makes me feel like what’s the point.

 

_Of course._

 

Reek, it rhymes with sneak.

 

I can’t even take my fingers off the wheel. Part of me wants to put on the radio. Most of me doesn’t want to bother. Movement bothers me, and the noise would irritate me. _He_ keeps the house quiet mostly. The boys are loud, but they don’t come around as much anymore. Even the TV never goes above 15. The dogs rarely bark unless we’re outside. I hated it at first, but now I’m used to it and I’m sure the sudden burst of upbeat noise would just cause a shattering headache to sprout between my ears. Besides, music lost it’s appeal.

 

I used to love to sing. I had an alright voice. Not like _him_ of course, I’ve heard _him_ sing before and it’s like listening to warm honey being drizzled over ice cream. This coolness and warmth clashing. It sends goosebumps up my arms and down my back until I'm shaking and _he_ stops because I might be having a fit from some new medication. _He_ worries about me now. But music now with it’s upbeat lyrics and it’s erratic beats doesn’t seem very interesting to me. Nothing quite clicks with me like it used to. Perhaps because I’ve shed my skin and become an entirely different person.

 

Reek rhymes with peak. The summit of what I’ve come to be.

 

In my mind I can be honest for one second. It’s so incredibly dangerous to do that, slip back into that old coat of skin that had a different name; but I have to when I can. It’s the only thing that can keep any part of myself here, anchored to hell.

 

Some body of water is to my left. Pond, lake, ocean? I have no idea. I know it’s not an ocean because then I think I could roll down my window and feel the salt in the air and taste the sea in my mouth and I could just feel something like comfort. I’m never that lucky.

 

The honesty hits me just as I’m starting to close myself. There’s still twenty more minutes until I get home and can pull the car into the garage and walk into the house and look at _him_ and _he_ ’ll know _he_ was right. This was a wasted trip. A prescription for some pills _his father_ can supply for free. This is the last of the wasted trips I’ll be allowed to make. I’m not sure what the purpose was. I’m not sure why _he_ even wanted to let a doctor take a look at me.  I think _he_ ’s only allowed this many as a test, and to see the defeated look I know I have to sport when I come crawling back with all my imperfections and pains crippling me.

 

The honesty cuts me deeper than any knife. Hits me harder than any hammer.

 

The truth is that in this second, this minute of my life I can be free. There is no home, none other than the terrifying house that belongs to the owner of this car, the owner of the body I just so happen to inhabit. There’s nobody I can turn to, every friend I thought I had has disappeared, died or disowned me. There’s no family left to take me.

 

The truth is that there is this vast body of water next to me as I travel just slightly over the speed limit. There’s this great expanse of liquid screaming my name as waves break against the rocks. My real name. Whispering it like a prayer every time the current moves. I can listen to it, nobody will stop me. It can take me and calm me. It’s where I needed to go, where I really belong.

 

It’s clear in my head, I turn the wheel, my bones scream, I smile as the car smacks the water in the most ungraceful manner. My lips are chapped and split and they’ll split even more from the grin I’m wearing when the freezing water starts to flow into the car, turning me to ice. I’ll sink down and down and down and find peace with the bottom of this unknown body of water.

 

I loved the water. Theon loved the water. Then I think, Theon is dead. I’m alive. I shake off my thoughts and catch myself just drifting to my left. I gain control of the car with little effort.

  
After all, my master will be very upset if I damage _his_ toys.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't really fit into my timeline (again - surprise). I wrote it a while back and I've been playing with it, but I like the idea of it. Finally figured I'd post it because as we progress in the main story I don't really see anyplace this really fitting it. Eh, oh well? Reading music? I listened to Leave My Body - Florence & the Machine and Out To Sea - Ólafur Arnalds. Enjoy :)


	4. IV (for nanjcsy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we soothe the beast for tonight.

 

There was something about the curve of his shoulder blades, worming under his skin gently. There was just something about the pink marks placed like kisses across the bare expanse of his exposed throat. There was something about his eyes, when the light would catch them it would look like there was something still in there with feelings - living breathing feelings like fish traveling in the stream of his mind, splashing and scaly and no matter how hard he tried he would never ever be able to put his fingers on those fish and tell them to stay still so he could watch them or eat them or set them free. Tonight the light in his eyes shone a little brighter, those rainbow scales reflecting sunlight in the clear cool water.

 

Tonight he just felt so exhausted when he thought about destruction. He just felt drained, totally utterly spent of every inch of energy in his body if he imagined breaking something with that kind if light down. How much work it would take, and besides did he even want to anyway? Did he want to catch those fish, or did he simply want to tame those fish, take them home and store them in a bowl on the counter top so he could tap his fingers on the glass and see them swim around inside so patient and needing him to take care of them. He would flake the food in and watch the tails dance around tiny store bought plants.

 

He wanted so badly to be needed. That was the truth of things. His wanting tonight amounted to craving that feeling that another thing - a living thing that was perfectly capable of getting up and leaving, walking away and never speaking another word of this whole mess and yet didn’t. couldn’t, would not. Somebody that needed him somehow. In his mind he had always been the fisherman, the one with the net in the pond or the man with his pants rolled around his calves trying to grab fish with bare wriggling fingers in the murky water. Tonight as he saw that gentle slope of pale flesh flecked with dark hair that led to pink parched lips he felt he was less a man and more a creature that craved so often to bite into those fish and shake them from the environment they had lived in. His own fish has swam away and left him an empty pond in his chest where creatures from the woods drank and the mold festered and drove all those monsters mad inside him until he couldn’t do much else put displant others.

 

Tonight he thought he had missed his fish, his full pond, his rational beasts inside him that weren’t always fighting and tearing each other to bloody pieces. He missed these and so much more and he thought if only tonight he could keep those fish. If only somebody hadn’t forced those fish away maybe he could be a rational beast that didn’t tear everything to bloody pieces.

 

So his fingers were the tenderest touches on bruises and he thought of how all those monsters inside him did this. How he had tried to shred somebody else’s ecosystem into strips of nothingness and how it was shameful how he couldn’t control his own environment. And those fish writhed under his fingers and stopped when they knew pain wasn’t coming. That the monsters had been kenneled for the darkest part of the night. The man before him stopped struggling as if he even truly had been to begin with.  The odd angles of elbows and knees coated in rugburns and the thick way his tongue felt in his mouth - weighted down with guilt for once.

 

“Stand up please,” And when he didn’t rise from his knees. those busy eyes just lowered to the ground. He felt helpless and trapped. He felt like he had one of those cold blooded things between his fingers, twisting and trying to get out and it just stopped - it’s gills flapping for mercy and he could toss it back or wring it out and he just walked away feeling an aching where his heart thudded before.

 

There was a sadness to his voice when he apologized, something that the rabid things inside him didn’t know about. They only knew about pain and anger. They only saw black rage and red fury. They would never see the rainbows in the scales. Tonight even the gnashing of their teeth was silent when the pale moon of a man came into the room on his feet - anxious still.

 

“Can we just pretend for the night that this is.... something.” He had no words, nothing to say to excuse himself from his behaviors that caused the angry welts across the slice of whiteness behind him. He had no words to explain what would occur when the cages broke lose and the swarm would race out and begin the leveling of everything in a thousand foot radius. It would happen in a few hours when the metal of his mind rusted away in the rain that was coming. He had no words to describe what he wanted either, so he busied his hands in the sink with a dish that had already been washed and was just waiting to be stacked neatly in the cabinet somewhere.

 

“Has i-it been a long day?” The words were distant behind him as his mind tried to explain that no it had not been a particularly long day in the way that all days were twenty four hours and tended to end eventually. Today had not been twenty six or even twenty five hours. In the eighteen hours of this day he had only been awake for about ten of those hours which meant his day wasn’t even full of activity. It was just a dreary day and the cold hung on his bones and when he saw that flash of understanding in those eyes he just couldn’t be himself anymore. He had to stop and cage it so it didn’t kill everything and now he was somebody else. Somebody else with different needs and wants. The need to feel fingers on his scalp, the want to feel lips near his ear breathing air into him in uneven puffs.

 

Suddenly without saying anything the man who had the load of caged up animals inside him turned and went to the couch and sat down, suddenly weary to the point of collapse. He didn’t have the desire to remove his shoes or his tie or his jacket or dry off his wet soapy hands. His only desire was to felt warmth beside him - so he spoke to the man who had the calm fish swimming in lazy circles inside him.

  
And the man who was much more than calm water came without question and sat down beside the man who was more beast than human and rested his head against a shoulder. Stray curls tickled a nose, then a sneeze and then a chuckle. That cage that was actually a man held everything inside him. Lips puffed uneven breaths into an ear. Dark hair was wrapped around cold bony fingers. And they sat on the couch in the dark just holding still. The air turned crisp outside and the orange blaze turned a deep navy color. Spots of white glowed in the sky, and the two just stayed breathing and being and holding onto the calm inside them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for one of the people who always comment and always give me kudos and praise no matter what comes out. This is to nanjcsy <3 I hope it's okay and look - nothing bad happening to anybody. I SWEAR I'm going to write something into the main story about Ramsay being nice I swear on the old gods and the new. But maybe this might soothe all of our rabid beasts for the night?


	5. Good Vibrations

“Pick or I swear to god you’ll be walking around with one toe per foot.” The lights were blinding, sweat dotted his forehead as he tried to blindly pick something. That might be for the worse. If he shut his eyes and pointed a finger who knows where it would land. Then again this was his punishment. It was not quite as bad as other things, stripping the skin from a toe, breaking a rib, removing a tooth...if he let his mind wander to what was worse they would be here all day. Clearly Ramsay was already impatient. 

 

This, this wasn’t physical torture. It would be soon, no matter what he picked. For now it was all in his mind. That was the worst part.

 

He had done something or another. He had no idea what it was this time. It was something new every day. A new stain would appear on the carpet, the mail would be late, Ramsay would stub his toe on the dresser in the middle of the night getting up to take a piss - it made no matter if any of it actually  _ was  _ Theon’s fault. He was the one who bore the brunt of the blame. His thin shoulders carried the weight of the world’s failures. 

 

Today was no different than any others that came before it. Theon woke up, feeling every muscle in his body cry out with aching. He shook the cold from himself and went upstairs to make breakfast. Somewhere between slipping the bread into the toaster and pouring the orange juice Ramsay appeared in a fury. It wasn’t a normal fury, this was one of those soft attacks that barely makes any signs of existing. Theon knew though. By the way he stood in the doorway, the way his thumbs hooked into his belt loops, the way his hair looked ever so slightly unkempt. It was like he had been up for a few hours planning what to do with his pet. 

 

He had explained, surely. That was one of the things he loved to do - talk on and on about this or that and what had happened and why it should never happen again. Usually the punishment was physical. Sometimes it took a few hours, sometimes it took minutes. Fucking or scraping flesh off his body, it made no difference sometimes. Ramsay had the power to make it hurt the same. 

 

Today though instead of ripping his clothes off and throwing him down the steps or onto the floor or outside in the dirt he had told him to put on a pair of jeans and get ready to go out. His mind wandered as he got ready to go, he had very few things left that fit him. Being out in public did have it's pros. It was almost safe out there and thinking about punishments he thought he would be mostly safe. Perhaps some public humiliation. He could accept that easily. He’d make a big show like it was awful and do whatever Ramsay wanted. It would be easy  to hang his head and look oh so sad; but inside himself, the only safe place left, he’d be thrilled. 

 

He had gotten into the car and let his mind drift, enjoying the world whizzing past. His eyes drinking in the sight of the buildings, cold and grey and covered in ice but beautiful all the same. Escape flitted through his mind then died silently where it had appeared. Theon dug the grave somewhere in the pit of his stomach, but couldn’t bring himself to kill the joy he felt at just being out of the house. It had been so goddamn long. His face staring back at him in the side mirrors looked like a strangers. He couldn’t meet this sickly looking mans eyes. He ignored him. He learned to ignore a lot of things. 

 

He should have been listening to the prattling of his driver but he just couldn’t. His ears were blocked with the hiss of static on the radio. When they pulled up to a refurbished grocery store he was shocked. This wasn’t what his mind had picture, not what he had through at all.

 

‘Playtime Boutique’ in neon lights blazed through the windshield. At least fifteen cars filled the parking lot of the double decker store. He’d been here before. One of those adult stores that sold all manner of things, X rated DVDs, lollipops shaped like all sorts of human anatomy, blow up goats with two or three fuckable holes...it wasn’t someplace he came often. He had dragged a few girlfriends here to pick out things, all kinds of things depending on the girls. 

 

His face turned red, then white. 

 

“You’re going to pick something out, and I’ll buy whatever it is. And then we’ll test it out. No videos. I don’t even know how that industry doesn’t go under, what with the internet - “ 

 

Ramsay kept talking but Theon was somewhere else. Bringing some small brunette in to embarrass her. Pointing out the multicolored plastic toys that lined the wall. His lips against her ear asking if just maybe she’d like some of those beads over there. The way her face had turned bright pink and she had run out almost in tears. He was clutching his sides as the cashier eyed him with suspicion. 

 

“So, go on then. Let’s go in.” 

 

He didn’t want to move, felt as if her had turned to solid stone. Ramsay’s eyes shattered his quiet into pebbles. 

 

“Do I need to tell you again? We’re going inside.”

 

Theon knew as soon as he was inside it would be painful, there was no good outcome. Half the store was videos, DVDs that promised busty latinas, teenage asians, first time all gay anal invasions, and a thousand other things he didn’t want to see. The other half was racks and racks of all kinds of devices. 

 

The first isle the boys walked to; Theon much more being dragged than walking by choice, had handcuffs. The fuzzy kind, with a fuzzy collar to match. ‘Safe rope’ and tape that only stuck to itself hung next to it. Ramsay made some kind of disgruntled noise as he touched the package of ‘safe rope’. 

 

“What the hell is the point of these?” He flipped the plastic over, looking at the back. A half naked woman, tied up was moaning in pleasure. “How can anyone enjoy this if it’s not even real rope. It’s like cloth. Like cotton. What’s the point?” 

 

“N-not everyone is like y-you.”  Ramsay looked surprised he had been answered, then shook his head and replaced the package. 

 

“Like us, remember?” His eyes glanced over his reluctant companion's wrists, red and raw. The angry red ruins of recent rope burns stood out against his ghostly pale skin, pink scars faintly trailed up his arms. A matching faint scar stood out on his neck. Stiff fingers touched the scars self consciously. Even with a jacket on the cuffs never really covered the burns above his hands. He chewed his lip.

 

“Well,  _ we’re _ not picking these." He scoffed, tugging Theon on deeper into the store. "Let’s just move on.” They moved onto a different aisle, this one with two giggling girls in. They couldn’t but much younger than Theon was, but he felt ancient compared to them. A thousand years versus just a handful. His knees popped as he tried to hide behind Ramsay, who was instead choosing to ignore him. He stepped aside. Theon rushed to the next aisle, a row of vibrators nearly smashed into his face. 

 

Ramsay was there before Theon could turn back.

 

“Oh, so you want to get fucked don’t you? When we get home. Would you like to pick out something I can fit inside your tight ass next to my cock? Think this will fit?” He fingered a long thin pink vibrator. Theon burned from the inside out. No matter what he picked, he would be ripped apart. Even if he picked the smallest thing he was sure there would be some way to use it to cause him insurmountable amounts of pain. 

 

He suddenly decided he wanted nothing inside him. Ramsay’s foot tapped, his arms crossed his chest. For the fifth or sixth time he glared.

 

“Pick.” 

 

Theon had to. He knew the threats weren’t empty. If he walked out of here empty handed he wouldn’t be walking for a very long time. Anxiety beat at his heart, pounding the war drums in his chest. Every eye in the place was on him, he knew it. Everyone was watching him, waiting. The girls in the aisle, the man coming out of a viewing booth, the cashier and the stocker and the older woman looking at lingerie. They were all just watching him. His palms were slick with sweat. 

 

This would hurt. This was a test. It was all a test. Everything clicked in his head so quickly he felt dizzy. This was one test he would _pass_.

 

He walked straight back to the last aisle. The one with the handcuffs and safe tape and god knows what. Against the wall, in the darkest corner he picked his punishment. Ramsay didn't want humiliation, he wanted pain.   


 

He presented it to Ramsay like a proud child, bringing his choice to him with both hands. He wanted approval. 

 

Twelve inches long, leather and wood, black and red it was something he just knew he wasn’t expected to grab. The paddle was soft in his hands, but knew against his back, his ass it would sting. The word slut, in bright red wood stood out. That was what would hurt the most. The wood, even against his hand it felt heavy. Raining down on him it would leave a mark. He could see himself bent over with the word slut all over the back of his thighs. He could just imagine the way it would feel when Ramsay would bring the thick wood down across his face, the way his teeth would jar in his mouth. Still, it would hurt much less than the knife. Much less than the fourteen inch rubber cock Ramsay had been eyeing since they walked in. Much less than almost anything in the store he was actually allowed to pick from. Fat purple bruises would be wonderful compared to one more night of flaying.  


 

Ramsay sighed, as if beaten. 

 

“Alright, that will do.” Theon’s heart leapt into his throat. Had he really won? When there was so much worse had he really gotten the least terrible option. He practically pranced up to counter, proud he had thought things out once. Ramsay slid his card over the glass to the man behind the register. Not much was said until the transaction was nearly finished. 

 

“Oh, I almost forgot. Sorry, pet. I couldn’t help myself. You took too long, although we’ll find a use for your choice.” 

 

A plastic container was slid across the glass. Theon barely had time to look at the box before it was bagged. He would see it plenty later on. Ten inches, rubber. Blue, purples, greens it was a rainbow of similar shades. Thick as a pop can his mouth fell open. It was also in the shape of some great tentacle from some monstrous sea creature. It was slipped into the black bag and handed over. 

 

“In case you were wondering, it’s called the Kraken. I thought you’d enjoy it." Ramsay's mouth split into a sick grin, too many teeth between his lips.   


 

Theon’s legs felt like melting puddles of ice. He couldn't think of making it to the car. If he left the store he would be in for a long night. A long weekend. A long month. A very fucking long life. He could beg for the cashier to call the cops. Scream to those giggling girls that he was being held against his will. Shake the man walking to his car until he did something god damn it. He looked around. Nobody, not a single person was looking at him. Not a single person would meet his eyes. Not a single person would lift a finger to help him. He felt the bruise on his neck, the scar roped around it. He felt the burn of words under his clothes. He felt his scarred body, his ruined feet, his fingers with all the bumps and bruises and broken bones. 

 

He swallowed hard, clutching the bag of purchased and followed Ramsay out of the store and into the car. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things.   
> 1\. I'm back from vacation and it was beautiful.   
> 2\. I got engaged. (woowie) But really it was amazing and he said Pink and Red could be our wedding theme.   
> 3\. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY TODAY. <3 I'm an old woman now.   
> Other than all that nonsense carry on having a wonderful day and I hope you guys find this little break amusing. :)


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